Blogging away

I haven't posted in a long, long time, mostly because I felt as if every entry had to be a carefully composed mini-essay. I didn't really see the point of blogging; who would want to read my day-to-day thoughts besides my small circle of close friends and family, most of whom already hear them in tedious detail as soon as they cross my mind? Lately, however, I've read a number of blogs posted by total strangers, and have enjoyed them. So here goes...

Yesterday, I encouraged C. to tell my mom about a trip he and his dad took last weekend to Valley Forge. He went once in December for the anniversary of the march-in of the Continental Army, and then again last Saturday to do more drilling and musket-waving.

C: Which time should I tell her about? The second time?
Me: Yes, the second time. Last weekend.
C: You mean the anniversary?
Me: NO, I mean the second time.
C: But the second time was the anniversary.
Me: The second time was last weekend.
C: No, that was the third time.
(Pause, while my eyes narrow)
Me: Are you counting the time you went before you could walk as the first time?
C: Yeah.

Fortunately, I was having a good day. On a bad day, well, there would have been some shouting. I try to remember that it's just the way his brain works, but that knowledge doesn't always keep me from losing my cool. Sometimes he's honestly confused, and sometimes he's joking, but either way, his approach comes from a fundamental belief that his way of thinking is the way of thinking, and that if I didn't, say, realize right away that he would start counting his trips to Valley Forge in 1998, well, I was just being slow.

It's your kid's party, but I'll cry if I want to

I brood a lot over the things that other parents do to my family while merrily parenting their own children. Children's birthday parties keep me up at night. It's not the parties, but the invitations (or lack thereof).

Children below a certain age have birthday parties where their parents choose the kids and issue the invites. C did well at this stage--lots of invitations. Gift shopping was an opportunity to think about other people's likes and dislikes (theory of mind, dontcha know). C practiced fine motor skills by drawing birthday cards.

Then this year, when C. turned eight, we got hit with the double whammy of girls-only parties and guest lists created by kids. The girls-only parties I understand. I clearly remember running away in horror from boys on the playground in third grade. But when the kids make their own guest lists, can't my kid get a special pass?

Now, many of my friends--including some of my friends who have kids with AS, and including my husband--say that the parents can't very well tell the birthday boys and girls that they can invite 10 children of their own choice and then add, "as long as you include C."

Why not? Why not tell them they can invite seven children of their choice, their two cousins, and C? Here's my analogy: Pretend we live in a world where kids really prize good vision. Sharp-eyed kids are the coolest in the school. I have dear friends who know my child is blind. Should they make their kids invite my son? I think so.

My child has a social disability. His poor interpersonal skills--his social blindness--mean he will never hit an eight-year-old's top ten list of friends. But he enjoys birthday parties as much as the next little guy. Can't my friends cut him a break, and maybe teach their kids something about respecting diferences at the same time?

Apparently not. Or, at least, not everyone can manage to think this through. But that's okay. October 30 is coming, and I have a dozen eggs I'm saving up.

On the other hand, I come across many unexpected blessings. One fellow homeschooler always makes time to focus completely on C as he talks; she says she finds his monologues fascinating. Another told me, during a playdate, to let her know if there was anything she could do to help C feel more comfortable; it took me some time to realize that she really meant that she would go the extra mile to arrange the event so he would be successful and have fun. She wasn't just offering a glass of water. Yet another clearly favors C. over his charming, social baby sister, just because he's C.

These are the friends who are willing to come along on the journey. I am so grateful for their company.

For every blog there is a reason

First, I have to give credit to part of the inspiration for this blog: Jeffrey Cohen's book The Asperger Parent. The book is careful to focus on what it's like to be the parent of a child with AS, rather than on AS itself or the child.

The other inspiration was my mother's comment a couple of years ago: "I'm sorry this is happening to you." At the time, I was taken aback; "This isn't happening to me," I said, "It's happening to C." And yet, even though I still don't think that AS is something that "happens to" anyone, or that it's necessarily something to feel sorry about, raising a child with AS just isn't easy.

I can already tell that on this blog, I'm often going to catch myself and qualify or clarify what I've said. So here I go: when other parents tell me, "XYZ (dealing with C.) must be so hard," I tell them, "No parent has an easy job." It's true, and I'm not just trying to make them feel better.

Another clarification, before my mother reads this and protests: she certainly appreciates C.'s wonderful qualities as much, or more (she's the grandma, after all) as anyone. She just wishes life for her own child, me, were smooth sailing all the time.

That brings me to the tough part of being the parent of a child with AS, or any child. It's not that it's hard to live with them (even though it can be). It's hard to raise them, teach them, and live with them because we love them, and we want everything to be smooth sailing for them. And it's not. For kids with AS, it hardly ever is.